


seen

by smolstiel



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Creepy Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Non-Human Cecil Palmer, Pre-Relationship, anyway the moon’s in his eye like a big pizza pie, how does one tag this um, it’s just one of my baby drabbles don’t get excited, this is in the early early times like episode 2 or 3 kind of early
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: Carlos considers himself a man of reason, but this isn’t reasonable. There’s something to the prickle on the back of his neck.
Relationships: Carlos & Cecil Palmer
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	seen

**Author's Note:**

> yes i’m aware this is a departure from my usual. it’s actually my first non-spn fic posted on ao3 :) i discovered wtnv about a month ago and man ....... man.

Carlos is very aware that the man on the radio knows far more than he should. He’s been aware of it since the very first day, flipping through channels and looking for music to unpack to, instead finding a voice that thrummed with something rich and soothing, despite the fact that it knew his name and occupation without him even having spoken a single word aloud. He’d spent a month preoccupied, trying to figure out how the station could have gotten access to his rental papers when they had been burnt to ash in ritual agreement. 

He’d thought maybe the community radio station was simply a puppet show, the Voice of Night Vale being the mouthpiece of the government. Then he’d thought maybe he was overreacting. This is a small town after all, and word travels fast. 

There’s a prickling on the back of his neck, and Carlos decides not to turn and face the window. If he acknowledges what is surely a coincidence at best, a recurring psychosis at worst, then he will be forced to deal with it. And despite all his proclaimed love for science and reason, there is nothing reasonable about this. 

No, Carlos is fully aware that Cecil on the radio is smitten with him, broadcasting his every move in conjunction with the Secret Police, or in possession of some form of terrifying omniscience. He refuses to touch the budding hypothesis that links specific broadcasts of his activities to the appearance of the moon in the sky. It’s simply too much. 

Cecil’s droning on the radio now, some long, unbroken spiel about the nature of cartilage. It’s impossible to say if this is sponsored by the local medical community or just something the radio host happens to think relevant. 

Carlos blows out a soft breath as he lifts his head from peering into the microscope. He rubs the bridge of his nose, turning to lean against the table. Away from his instruments, towards the window, which he didn’t quite put together until the Voice changed, grew brighter and more enthusiastic. 

“Listeners, it appears Carlos has taken a brief pause from his work. It is very important work, but breaks are important too, you know! You should refrain from drinking water or eating any kind of proteins while working, but do partake in regular breaks in which to contemplate the fragility of existence!” Cecil chirps in a bright, velvety tone. 

His gaze raises lightly from his instruments, up to the window. The moon peeks in innocuously. 

“Hello, Carlos,” the Voice crooned.

**Author's Note:**

> and now the weather.


End file.
